


Turing Tested

by AERCHIVE (aerClassic)



Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: Android AU, M/M, listen there are sexy sexy androids and i think that's good enough, so is the technical jargon, the science is shaky at best don't look at it too hard
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-04
Updated: 2020-08-04
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:00:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25414333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aerClassic/pseuds/AERCHIVE
Summary: Hongjoong takes one look at the man-shaped box emblazoned with the KQ Industries logo sitting in the middle of Seonghwa’s living room and bursts out laughing.“Oh my god, I can’t believe you’ve bought asexbot.”
Relationships: Background Jeong Yunho/Kim Hongjoong, Kang Yeosang/Park Seonghwa
Comments: 18
Kudos: 299
Collections: SeongSang Week 2020





	Turing Tested

**Author's Note:**

> " ** _どうもありがとうミスターロボット_** __  
>  **秘密を知りたい** "

The thing _is_...Seonghwa didn't so much order the damned thing as he showed up at home after a long weekend spent tearing his hair out in the lab only to find the delivery truck already idling in his driveway, the driver finishing off a spliff while he waited patiently for a signature. Seonghwa can smell the acrid stench of hot asphalt mixed with herbs—the telltale sign of a less than casual azul user. Awesome. A clipboard is thrust in his hands and Seonghwa grimaces as he scrawls something approximating his name, too tired to give a shit about legibility when all he wants to do is shower and sleep for the next, oh, thirty-seven hours give or take.

"What exactly am I signing for here?" 

"I just deliver the goods." The driver, a man in his late forties going by the state of his crow's feet, takes the board and pen back, and then, bizarrely, offers up a leer. "Hope you don't mind me saying so, but a man such as yourself shouldn't need it. Seems a bit of a waste to be honest, what with the state of the birth rate and all."

Seonghwa doesn’t ask. The man was clearly half out of his mind on the illicit hallucinogen. Seonghwa waited for him to throw the clipboard into the front seat of his work van and watched as he slid open the huge door on the back end. He bites back a scowl when the driver kicks a metal box just off to the side of the wheel cover that unfolds to reveal a short industrial moving robot that creakily makes its way to the back of the storage area without so much as a beep.

The bot is little more than two boxes stacked on top of one another with a set of wheels and a sad pair of clamped arms. It's a rudimentary design back when Wal-E was the favorite of the scientific community.

“Damn rust bucket is almost too old to keep around,” the driver grumbled, lighting up another expertly rolled cigarette leaning against the side of the truck. “Bound for the scrapyard in the next three months or so. You buy copper?”

Seonghwa shakes his head. 

“Damn, was about to say I’ve got a guy that knows a guy that, let’s just say, gets his hands on some pretty decent tech if you’ve got the cash for it.”

Smoke billows out in an indigo cloud that _reeks_. Seonghwa unsubtly covers his nose with the collar of his lab coat and watches the small bot struggle to move a wooden box almost as tall as Seonghwa himself.

“That’s not mine, is it?”

The driver glances back towards the truck and scoffs. “‘Course that’s yours. The hell do you think they come in? DIY model kits?”

The robot bleats a long distressed whine and Seonghwa winces in sympathy as an arm pops and fizzles, electricity crackling in the left shoulder joint for a moment before it detaches completely. All three of them look at the sparkling appendage, the outdated robot letting out one long mournful beep before folding in on itself. When it becomes apparent the driver of the delivery truck is about to throw a fit at the busted machine, Seonghwa steps in. 

“I’ve got a couple work bots in the house.” He drags his hands down his face, ready to be done with this whole venture so he can finally goddamn _sleep_. “Give me five minutes to get them out here.”

The household bots make quick work of the enormous wooden box and then cluster around the broken down industrial robot’s broken appendage making curious noises Seonghwa has only heard when they’ve discovered a mouse or a particularly shiny beetle crawling around the perimeter of the house. 

Seonghwa nods his head in the broken bot’s direction. “You taking that to the scrapyard?”

“Yeah, I reckon.” The man snorts. “But if you want to keep your hands clean—”

“Thirty credits.”

Seonghwa watches him rub a thumb thick with the greasy residue of oily azul under his nose and tries not to gag. 

“Fifty and you can have it. I’ll even throw in the damned title.”

Which is how Seonghwa ends up standing in the middle of his living room with two house bots, one mostly broken industrial bot in self preservation mode hovering between them, and an enormous wooden box emblazoned with a logo he doesn’t recognize. His scanner is at the lab, as is his computer considering he’d stormed out when the latest attempt at a functional code had produced nothing but an almost never ending curve of additional bugs in the system.

A hot shower and a quick session with his hand doesn’t offer up any immediate solutions to the box conundrum, so Seonghwa, still dripping, lazily waves over his partner’s name on his list of contacts and waits.

Hongjoong answers on the third ring, disheveled and streaked in oil as if he’s been roughhousing with an excavator. 

“Yes? Forget something?”

“What would you do if I told you I potentially have a me sized bomb sitting in my front room?”

Hongjoong blinks at him, confused. “I’d say either the big man is really going the extra mile to get you off his back or it’s a Tuesday.”

“It’s Sunday.”

“Ah.”

Seonghwa glances back at the box and wonders if the ticking he’s hearing is his imagination going rogue or an actual timer slowly counting down his imminent demise. “Hongjoong, there might be a bomb in my living room.”

“Why do you get to have all the fun stuff happen,” Hongjoong whines, but he’s already scrambling to pack up his small avalanche of delicate precision instruments. “We’ll be there in five minutes, I’m bringing Yunho with me.”

“Of course you are,” Seonghwa coos, ignoring Hongjoong’s warning glance. “I’ll leave the door unlocked.”

His partner groans. “Dude, your piss poor security is the reason you’re getting incendiary devices in the mail. Lock your shit up!”

“Love you too,” Seonghwa laughs and hangs up.

He honestly doesn’t know what’s worse: being on the receiving end of a potentially deadly explosion or being in love with an android that has no capability to love you back. Hongjoong had created Yunho as the prototype to a series of caretaker droids for the physically disabled and ended up scrapping the line entirely when he confessed he liked his design a little _too_ much. Yunho himself didn't question the lack of progress on his own potential lineage, just carried on forcing Hongjoong to eat whatever culinary creation he'd downloaded that week and dragging Hongjoong back to his home when he spends a little too long giving himself eyestrain over circuit boards and lines of code so thin they gave Seonghwa a headache just glancing at them out the corner of his eye.

In a similar vein, the birth rate had taken a dive from the introduction of androids because they were, quote, much better lovers and caretakers to men and women alike. Why bother with a flesh and blood and emotionally messy human when there’s a programmable and subjectively _perfect_ substitute just waiting to be brought home from the store for less than a year’s wages. Seonghwa didn’t necessarily agree with the emerging sex industry centered on android lovers. How could a machine consent to everything that was either being done to them or by them if they had no say in the matter? 

The two household bots bring him the detached arm of the loading machine for his examination. A simple soldering job and a fresh set of hydraulics would fix the issue, but most industries threw their bots and droids alike away at the first sign of trouble because it was easier to write them off in order to purchase the latest and greatest model. The waste was sickening in Seonghwa’s opinion considering his own household helpers were several models older than the current standard, about the same release date as the moving bot but better taken care of.

He hands back the broken appendage. “We’ll get him fixed up tomorrow. I need you two to go unlock the front door and greet Hongjoong for me, please.”

They go. Seonghwa flops bonelessly to his couch and between one blink and the next wakes up to the loud cackling of his—questionably—favorite lab partner. 

“Wha’s so funny?” Seonghwa slurs, barely awake. 

Kim Hongjoong is bent double clutching at his stomach while Yunho gazes into the middle distance with a pained, slightly green, expression marring his otherwise perfect face. Hongjoong grabs onto Yunho’s sleeve to get a hold of himself, though, again, takes one look at the man-shaped box emblazoned with the KQ Industries logo sitting in the middle of Seonghwa’s living room and bursts out laughing.

“Oh my god, I can’t believe you’ve bought a _sexbot_.”

 _That_ doesn’t sound at all like a bomb. Seonghwa chokes on absolutely nothing and screeches, “I didn’t!”

“Well someone has. _This_ ,” Hongjoong traces the stylized Q with his forefinger, “is the logo of a very prominent, ah, personal use android manufacturer and I’m amazed you didn’t know that.”

“I’ve been awake for over forty-eight hours. Cut me some slack.” Seonghwa throws a slipper at Hongjoong’s fool head. “And anyway how do _you_ know what it is?”

“Yes, Hongjoong,” Yunho says and even as inflectionless as his voice tends to be he sounds aggravated. “How _do_ you know about KQI?”

Hongjoong ignores them to pull out a new tablet Seonghwa doesn’t recognize with a scanner cobbled together with pieces and parts found strewn about their shared workspace. “Don’t be cheeky, I know everything about everything.” He waves a hand distractedly over the flickering display. Yunho visibly relaxes. “And I’m on day three of stim packs so fuck off with the sleep deprivation excuse. Who delivered this?”

Seonghwa shrugs. “Some guy in an old delivery truck. Didn’t catch a name or a company.”

A throaty hum and Yunho steps in to pull Hongjoong away from getting too close to the suspicious package that may or may not contain a sex toy—droid. Robot. “Did you sign anything?”

“My name.” He plucks at the frayed end of his bathrobe. “Er—pen and paper. No digital footprint.”

Hongjoong looks as if he’s on the verge of a heart attack. “Do you just _want_ to be blown up? Hyung, there’s being naive and then there’s being willfully obtuse verging on suicidal. The Big Man is literally three months away from trying to hire snipers.”

The Big Man was their code word for the faceless CEO of the company in charge of android production for the general public and most, if not all, of commercial and industrial use. There were exactly two companies who owned the original patent on droid production: BHI and, Hongjoong’s family, ATZ Inc., and they both make all of their money selling the licenses to those patents to smaller companies for profit.

When he and Hongjoong had turned toward trying to design a chip geared toward android autonomy, several dangerous men associated with The Big Man, and his seemingly endless pockets, started showing up outside of Hongjoong’s family lab using sneakier and sneakier ways to try and sabotage their efforts—usually with guns and explosives and slamming brass knuckles into the brickwork wall surrounding the estate. Which was ridiculous and over the top considering the chips weren't even going to be a standard addition to AI builds, it was only going to be offered to droids on their way to the scrapyard or to owners with a conscience. An android able to say _no_ was, supposedly, dangerous. Yunho had become the central hub of the proximity alarms and liked to give a running commentary in the background of who and what is trying to climb through at any given moment in time—a squirrel, three men in black suits, an assassin masquerading as an old man with terrible prosthetics. 

“You don’t _know_ TBM is going to resort to snipers,” Seonghwa points out, “and in any case we’re more concerned about the fucking huge package sitting here in my living room. Just scan it for C4 or whatever it is please so I can finally get some rest.”

“Scanner isn’t picking up anything, likely some polymer on the other side of the wood blocking the signal. Yunho?”

The android is silent for exactly two seconds. “Nothing stands out as hostile or potentially explosive. Shall I pry it open?”

“Sure, but,” Hongjoong tugs at Yunho’s sleeve, “Be _careful_. There’s only ever going to be one of you.”

“The same could be said of _you_ ,” Yunho says politely as he removes Hongjoong’s hand. It is absolutely gag worthy how the two of them operate and any day now Seonghwa is going to send them on a prolonged vacation to a remote island so they can work it out of their systems, Yunho’s literally and Hongjoong’s figuratively. “Allow me.”

The wood creaks and falls away with a tug. Beneath is a sleek metal rectangle with a simple handle. Yunho pulls that too, and the room fills with a low hiss and pop of preservative dry ice beginning to thaw. Whatever is inside is obscured by fog.

Seonghwa coughs when the vapor hits him in the face. “Yunho? Any ideas?” 

The android hesitates, which is odd. “A few, yes.”

“Well?” Hongjoong peeks over Yunho’s shoulder. “Care to share with the class?”

In lieu of answering, Yunho just steps aside while pulling Hongjoong with him and together they wait for the vapor to dissipate. 

Inside is…

“I _told_ you it was a sexbot!” Hongjoong crows the instant a peek of scandalous collarbones are revealed. “Though you do get some points for dramatics, I gotta say inviting us over for the reveal of your—er—new bedroom buddy is really weird, Seonghwa.”

“I don’t know how many times I can say I didn’t order a goddamn sexbot before you believe me,” Seonghwa accuses. “Clearly it was misdelivered as part of some kind of mixup in the system!” 

Yunho still hasn’t said a word but his gaze is so laser focused on whatever android is in that box that Seonghwa is beginning to worry it’s actually something dangerous. Maybe it’s a droid fully decked out in leather BDSM dominatrix gear with a studded paddle to match and Yunho, the sexually uneducated aside from whatever knowledge he’d gleaned from unsecured storage banks, looks as if he’s trying to decide whether he needs to be stepping in front of them as a barrier or running away from the building.

The vapor finally clears.

It is definitely _not_ a dominatrix droid.

Hongjoong whistles. “Well, whoever tried to get him obviously had taste. He’s _pretty_.” He pouts when Yunho covers his eyes. “Yah, I can’t look at other androids now?”

Yunho blinks once, mouth pursed, before he settles on, “No.”

“Meanie.”

The banter would be adorable really, if Seonghwa weren’t currently trying to roll his tongue back in his mouth. Whoever had designed this model to their specifications really did have impeccable taste because the android isn’t so much pretty as he is devastatingly gorgeous. The body looks male with hard lines of faux musculature hidden beneath a ruffled blouse that would be more at home on the front cover of a tawdry romance novel than on a pers— _an_ _droid_. His hair is blonde and slightly curly, eyelashes dark, skin sunkissed and a slew of other equally flowery things that jostle for center stage in Seonghwa’s stagnating brain.

Hell.

Hongjoong is the first to step in close, openly curious. “How do we turn him on? I don’t see the usual LED indicator.” He pokes one of the android’s cheeks and goes starry-eyed. “Wow, whatever they’re doing over at KQI is getting damn near unrecognizable from humans because this thing’s skin is _unreal_. Seonghwa, come feel him!”

“I’d rather not,” Seonghwa says. He’s still trying to overcome the sudden influx of _pretty pretty pretty_ swirling around in his exhaustion addled head. “Can you—can you please stop poking at it? This is getting too weird even for me.”

“Yes,” Yunho agrees, “Stop molesting him.”

“I’m not doing anything a man of science wouldn’t,” Hongjoong complains as if he’s not trying to undo the droid’s belt. “Aren’t you curious to see what he’s packing? I bet they decked him out with a monster down here.”

“Stop,” Seonghwa groans at the same time Yunho bodily picks Hongjoong up to pull him away from the still hissing box. Hongjoong dangles in Yunho’s arms much like a sad, angry cat. “Christ. Thank you, Yunho.”

Yunho smiles thinly and inclines his head. “My pleasure. Kim Hongjoong, if you do not stop struggling I will not hesitate to inject you with a sedative.”

“Neither one of you want me to have any fun,” Hongjoong complains, though he does go limp in Yunho’s hold. “Spoilsports the lot of you.”

“We’re not spoilsports, we just don’t want to see you getting all hot under the collar over an android’s nether region,” Seonghwa says cooly. Though, he can’t say he also isn’t morbidly curious about what else KQI had—ah—equipped him with. 

Hongjoong crosses his arms and pouts. “You can’t blame me for being curious. We thought it was going to be a bomb, then a sexbot, then a bomb again, and now there’s a super pretty droid just sleeping in your living room and you _don’t_ want to see what he’s decked out with? Lame. Super lame.”

Yunho sighs gustily against the back of Hongjoong’s head. “Can we go home now?”

“The lamest!” Hongjoong cries out. “Where’s your sense of adventure?”

“My sense of adventure ends at trying to look at android dick, thanks,” Seonghwa says and stops. “Or whatever they’ve put down there. Maybe he’s blank like a ken doll?”

Seonghwa nearly jumps out of his skin when a new voice blandly informs them, “I have functioning genitals, you know.”

“Ooooo, he’s awake!” Hongjoong says excitedly. “Yunho, put me down I wanna meet the newbie!”

“No,” Yunho denies. “Leave him alone.”

The android steps delicately out of its storage box and bows politely, hands demurely folded over the other just above its groin. “Hello, Master.”

“Oh hell no,” Seonghwa blurts over the sound of Hongjoong’s maniacal laughter. “Look, there’s been some kind of mix up—”

The android unfolds and stares unerringly into his eyes. “Are you not Park Seonghwa? The engineer currently spearheading the Freedom Transition Act?”

Well.

A bomb would have been kinder.

**\---------------**

The android introduces himself as a Kang model#Y3054N6. “Yeosang for short,” he said with a slight grin. His soft face was almost completely at odds with the throaty timbre of his voice. “A pleasure to meet you, Master.”

Which is how Seonghwa finds himself suddenly in the possession of an honest to god sexual companion droid that follows him around the house like a lost puppy begging for scraps. Yeosang doesn’t actually try anything, thankfully, but there is a definite air of bitterness when Seonghwa drops him in front of a guest room door instead of leading him toward his own bedroom for—activities.

“This is your room temporarily while we get this whole thing sorted out,” Seonghwa tiredly declares. “Are you sure there was no manifest or order number I could use to return you back to your company?”

“None whatsoever!” Yeosang grins wide. “Though if you have any special requests—”

“I don’t,” Seonghwa hastily interrupts before Yeosang can get any ideas about sneaking up on him later. “I am totally fine with—with my no request stance, thank you.”

Yeosang only shrugs. Seonghwa leaves him to figure out his sleeping arrangements for the night and retires to his own room where he closes and locks the door as a precaution. 

A Kang model from KQI delivered by surprise. On a _weekend_ , no less. Someone paid extra to have him made, then dropped off on a day when there were no regular delivery schedules, _and_ took the time to load the android up on current news events to go along with his usual programming. Seonghwa clutches at his head. 

The Freedom Transition Act was something he was proud to put his name on, but the current state of politics meant it gained so little traction it might as well be nonexistent, stagnating in bureaucratic limbo waiting to be scrapped entirely. It laid the groundwork for allowing androids and robots to reassign themselves to different fields depending on their given capabilities. Just like humans, some bots tend to break down after a certain amount of time doing the same mind-numbing job day in and day out. FTA would give them the freedom to choose new positions—either a lateral job promotion or being allowed to step into a new industry. The proposal had exactly four cosigners: Hongjoong, Yunho, one parliamentary aid, and a local mayor who just wanted to appear a man of the people.

So _why_ would Yeosang identify him as an FTA founder? Why not, say, a top member of one of the largest android production companies on the globe? Why not _Park Seonghwa, voted most eligible bachelor by Golddiggers Weekly_? 

Forty-eight hours spent without sleep finally catches up to him and Seonghwa willingly allows the thick blanket of exhaustion to pull him under. Perhaps a good day or two of rest would provide actual answers.

**\---------------**

Rather than ferry himself back to the lab, Seonghwa creates a miniature repair station in the sitting room full of open windows to enjoy the chilly November air and works on repairing the sad and rusting moving bot he’d purchased. 

Yeosang perches on a low table to watch. “Why bother fixing that? It’s just old and outdated hardware.”

“You’ll be old someday,” Seonghwa points out. “Would you rather be thrown out and turned into scrap parts or would you rather be maintained so you can live longer?”

Yeosang scowls and says petulantly, “I won’t rust.”

His soldering job isn’t perfect, but the arm is functional again. The little industrial bot turns towards it with a series of excited beeping, its rollers whirring back and forth like a little kid being offered a present. Seonghwa grins and taps it gently on the side. “We’ll get this reattached in a moment, can you open up your exterior panel for me?”

The bot does and settles back into standby mode. 

Seonghwa turns back to Yeosang swaying his feet to and fro beneath the table. “Someday you’re going to run into a storage capacity issue, or a rotator cuff is going to grind down, or a piece of your circuitry is going to come loose and need repair. Rust is not even in your top twenty list of things to be concerned about.”

“I can agree that’s true.” Yeosang tilts his head curiously. “You’re not what I was expecting.”

“That makes two of us,” Seonghwa mutters darkly. “Are you completely, 100% sure there is no way to send you back to KQI?”

“Not unless you want me to be destroyed,” Yeosang informs him in the same way he’d describe the weather. “KQI wouldn’t want someone to catch VD with a used unit.”

And isn’t _that_ something to think about. 

“I thought you, er, your particular type of android model had antibacterial and antiviral components?” Seonghwa eyes him warily in case Yeosang takes that as some sort of hidden cue to offer up his services again. 

Yeosang doesn’t. He remains mostly still except for the slow swing of his feet just barely lifted from the floor. “We do, however there is a stigma associated with used pleasure hardware. Even if I am scrubbed clean, I am not _new_. For some that’s a good enough reason to be destroyed as any.”

Seonghwa turns back to his pet project while his blood boils and begins slowly unscrewing the different pieces and parts he’s going to need to adjust to get this wiring back into place. “Every android has value,” he says when the first motorized joint loosens and comes away in his hand. “The industry creating them has been tainted by a cannibalizing form of consumerism. Just because something is old, or in your case presumed somehow too used to be sanitary, doesn’t mean you should automatically be sent to the dump.” 

Another piece falls away. The culprit of the busted arm in the first place is a loose ball bearing that had been chewed up by gears. Seonghwa thumbs over the dented metal pensively. 

“You could just as easily be reassigned as a household droid, or as a driver, a delivery person—”

“Not a person,” Yeosang oh so helpfully points out. “Is that why you started the FTA?”

One of his household robots bumps into his side with a tray laden with new gears and Seonghwa smiles in thanks. “It is partially the reason, yes. Androids deserve the freedom to say no. They deserve to be treated humanely and allowed the ability to choose.”

“As I understand it,” Yeosang’s lips thin, an action so unmistakingly _human_ it makes Seonghwa’s already questionably stable nerves begin to fray. “The whole premise sounds dangerously like you’re trying to invent a new species.”

“We already _have_ is what I’ve been trying to get at for this whole spiel,” Seonghwa laughs self-deprecatingly into his hands. “And we don’t allow them any of the rights and bodily autonomy they deserve.”

“They are made for a specific purpose,” Yeosang says lowly, almost too soft to be heard. “To give them the choice of denying that purpose is...unthinkable.”

“Yeah, well, I’ll probably be long dead before the idea gains any sort of mainstream support.” Seonghwa looks out of his window where the ice is starting to crisp along the edges. “But I don’t think just because humans make robots and androids in our image, with thoughts and feelings hardwired into their programming to be more like ourselves, that we should dictate every single aspect of their lives.” He turns to Yeosang scowling down at the floor avoiding his gaze. “Do you not think it would be nice to go somewhere by yourself without fear of a human using you to do their dirty work? Of being asked to do something purely because you’re built for it and unable to say _no_?”

Yeosang remains silent. Seonghwa takes that as the _yes_ it so clearly is and resumes his mechanical work.

**\---------------**

He ends up having to take the industrial bot to the lab with Hongjoong because nestled in a crack of the interior chassis is a stash of illegal azul, likely a remnant the delivery driver had forgotten about in his haste to transfer credits. _Azul_ was the mixture of liquid coolant refined for androids, sort of like their blood, and something like battery acid boiled down until it formed a paste to easily roll into cigarettes or edibles. Most dealers made it a point of pride to own as many androids as possible as miniature azul ‘farms’, flaunting their flocks on untraceable vid networks.

Seonghwa doesn’t really want to touch the stuff much less have it festering in his house. 

“Another new friend?” Hongjoong asks curiously when he notices the bot trailing after Seonghwa’s entrance. He whistles. “You could do with a chassis scrubber, buddy.”

The bot remains stationary but something whirrs and clicks beneath the surface of its face in acknowledgment. Seonghwa passes it off to Yunho to handle and sighs. “He needs more than that. Found a baggie of azul that needs incinerating.”

Yunho freezes. “You mean—”

“Don’t look, I’ll take care of it,” Hongjoong hastily volunteers and directs Yunho at Seonghwa’s work desk. “Go help do—whatever it is he’s doing today.”

Seonghwa doesn’t blame Yunho for being uncomfortable. He’d probably react the same if someone walked in and said hey I’ve got a big ol’ bag of blood what needs burning, who’s in? Not him that’s for certain.

Yunho hovers over his shoulder as Hongjoong disappears.

“Alright, spit it out.”

Yunho frowns. “How’d you know I was going to say anything?”

“Please, if you’d broadcasted it louder the surround system was about to start screaming.” Seonghwa pokes the adorable plush skin of Yunho’s cheek. “What is it?”

Yunho grimaces. “How is your new houseguest adjusting?”

Seonghwa shrugs, flicking around on his work station waiting for inspiration to strike. “Yeosang is...fine. He just kind of putters around looking for things to do and offering to suck my dick when he thinks he can get away with it.”

"What's—"

"I'm not going to tell you the definition of a blowjob, Hongjoong would literally murder me in my sleep."

Yunho’s eyebrows furrow. “He wouldn’t.”

“Yunho, your creator would sell me at market for 10 credits and a handshake if he thought he could get away with it,” Seonghwa says dryly because it is the _truth_ , especially if it was because Seonghwa had gone out of his way to educate Yunho on pleasures of the flesh when Hongjoong had made it abundantly clear he wanted Yunho to be kept in the dark for his own good. Though Yunho could just as easily search and download volumes of x-rated content before Seonghwa could say _cock_. “You’re the one with databank access.”

“Hongjoong asked me not to.”

“And that’s enough for you?”

If android’s could blush, this one would be crimson from the neck up. “He—it seemed important so it’s important to me.”

 _Disgusting_. The pair of them were fucking gross to be around and Seonghwa is going to start staying at home more often to get away from them. Or, well, he _would_ stay home if it weren’t for the android currently lounging in Seonghwa’s bedroom waiting to pounce.

Yunho’s expression smooths after a moment and he says with sudden intensity, “But really, about your guest—be _careful_.”

“Always am.” Seonghwa jerks his head in Hongjoong’s direction getting wild-eyed at the flames licking outwards from the incinerator. “Might want to say that to _him_.”

The android wilts. “I always do and he never listens. If anything ever happened to Hongjoong, I—” he stops, eyebrows furrowed like Yunho can’t quite parse what exactly he wanted to say. 

Seonghwa pats him fondly on the elbow. “You’ll figure it out one day.”

Yunho goes rigid. “Proximity alarm two: a woman with a carbon drill is currently trying to break the lock on the west gate.”

Hongjoong whoops. “Yunho! You wanna try out this gatling gun? I think I managed to turn the heat sinks into firework receptacles.”

“No. I will have her detained and call the appropriate authorities.”

“Boo,” Hongjoong jeers. He’s got a smudge of charcoal streaked from his brow to his nose. “Seonghwa, you makin’ any progress over there?”

The code he’d been working on diligently for going on three years now remains stubbornly unusable. Seonghwa glares at the list of error messages being thrown up by diagnostics and his continually failing attempts at patching them. “Not really.”

“Wanna go pop firecrackers in the yard and take your mind off of it?”

“Yes.”

Yunho releases the sigh of the extremely put upon and long suffering. “Hongjoong—”

“We’re just setting them off for funsies, Yunho-yah, lighten up. No one will be harmed.” They all ignore the _on purpose_ Hongjoong coughs into his sleeve in favor of running up to the first floor to scare the holy bejeesus out of a woman in a comically large sun hat slicing through the first two bars of the gate, popping off antique gunpowder projectiles in her general direction until the authorities arrive.

**\---------------**

Yeosang greets him at the door with his shirt unbuttoned to his navel, hair artfully tousled, and has helped himself to a liberal amount of Seonghwa’s lip balm to make his pert mouth look even more luscious and tempting. As if he really needed help in that department.

“Welcome home,” Yeosang purrs. “Can I take your coat for you? Your shoes?” His voice dips to a lower register and offers a sultry, “Your pants?”

Seonghwa has spent the last four hours meticulously combing through line after line after _line_ of code after every failed attempt at compiling it into something useful. It’s left him burned out and exhausted, thankfully, which means arousal is not even in the top seventy five percent of human emotion he’s capable of expressing.

“Cute,” he growls out, pushing Yeosang out of the way. “Still no word about your intended recipient?”

Yeosang pouts. “I don’t know how many times I can tell you I was built specifically _for you_ before it gets through your thick human skull.”

Seonghwa leaves his shoes and his coat strewn on the ground from the front door toward his kitchen, where a box of day old takeout is waiting for him. Even shitty dried out fried rice with wilted veggies is a step up from the absolute nothing that is happening at the lab. “Who authorized the build and delivery?”

“Afraid that’s classified,” Yeosang singsongs, “Are you sure you don’t feel like releasing some of that pent up energy with me? Maybe a nice quickie in the shower?”

His household bots beep in reprimand as they pick up the detritus of Seonghwa’s careless wardrobe flinging and he apologetically waves them away. “Classified how?”

Yeosang trails after him into the kitchen. “You didn’t answer my question.” 

“You didn’t answer mine first,” Seonghwa mocks. He glances back at Yeosang and decides _nope,_ that way lies danger, and keeps his gaze focused on reheating his sad bachelor dinner instead. Where it’s safest. “How is that information classified? Don’t you have access to KQI data?”

“I have the full scope of human ingenuity when it comes to the erotic manipulation of genitalia and a constant download of most pornographic content on the web,” Yeosang says as if he’s blandly reciting the news. “Unfortunately KQI does not provide access to their servers.”

The carrots have all gone chewy like old rubber. Seonghwa listlessly flicks them off his plate and considers his options. “So. You show up here unannounced without even a shipping manifest attached, no access to KQI servers, and yet you know who I was by sight alone?” Seonghwa crunches through old burnt broccoli and considers this dinner might be well and truly ruined. “I don’t buy it.”

“Because you didn’t buy me at all,” Yeosang sweetly points out. “I was a gift!”

“A gift from _who_ is what I want to know.” Seonghwa crinkles his nose up. “No offense, but I’m not exactly the kind of person anyone would go out of their way to buy a—um—you.”

Yeosang leans over the kitchen island so his shirt gapes open again, the pink of his nipples barely showing through the gap. “You can call me a sex toy, I don’t mind.”

Seonghwa, despite his better judgment, finds himself distracted by the very human flush spreading down Yeosang’s chest. KQI has apparently really gone the extra mile with their latest builds. It’s only when his fork clatters on the table, and Yeosang’s mouth quirks up with a self-satisfied smirk, that Seonghwa snaps himself out of his daze and coughs. “Er—no thanks. I’d rather just call you by your name.”

The android hesitates. “You mean my model?”

“Your _name_ , Yeosang,” Seonghwa says tiredly. “If you’re going to live here for however long, you’re going to have to get used to be treated like a person and not a _thing_. No model numbers allowed.”

Yeosang freezes in place, eyes wide. “Wh—your other bots don’t have names!”

“Exia and Zeta.” He points at each bot currently charging in their stations. “And don’t say anything about them, I went through a really intense vintage Gundam phase in my early twenties. Likewise, Hongjoong has Yunho and an entire house full of named droids. Neither of us or anyone in our company consider androids like yourself as _toys_.”

Yeosang remains tightlipped, fingers tapping formless rhythms on the countertop. 

His dinner has gone cold by now. Seonghwa throws the remnants away and pats Yeosang’s shoulder gently. “You have value and worth not associated with a monetary amount set by your manufacturers. Remember that.”

Seonghwa leaves him there in the kitchen to process. God knows he needs to escape the tantalizing view of skin and—and _pink_. He swore to himself he'd never end up in a position like Hongjoong and he _meant it._ No matter how gorgeous Yeosang appeared, he was still incapable of truly returning feelings that were not hardwired into his programming. It wouldn't be free will; it wouldn't be a choice; it would only be Seonghwa using Yeosang for his own personal gain simply because Yeosang's programming wanted to be useful.

**\---------------**

One month into welcoming Yeosang to his home, Seonghwa comes down with a minor cold that progresses into a bone shaking fever over the course of two weeks. He shakes beneath piles of blankets, throws them off while his body burns and the sweating becomes too much, and generally acts like an overgrown toddler about it to the point Exia and Zeta momentarily give up trying to clean after him. The little industrial bot, now gleaming silver and affectionately named Heybo because Seonghwa never actually grew out of the starry-eyed obsession with mech anime, brings him trays of water and pills Yeosang bullies him into taking. 

“Would you stop trying to work for three minutes?” Yeosang reprimands while dragging the soggy lump of Seonghwa’s body from his office back into his bed. “You’re just going to prolong this cold the more you refuse to rest, moron.”

“Don’t be mean to me,” Seonghwa says snottily, both literally and figuratively. “I gotta—I’m so close to a breakthrough if I could just—”

“No.” Yeosang firmly tucks him in bed with the covers drawn up around Seonghwa’s chin. “You will lie here and drink what I bring you and you will _rest_ or so help me I will sit on you until you’re better.”

Delirium makes him loose-lipped and honest, and Seonghwa mumbles a soft, “‘S not a punishment.”

“What isn’t?”

“You sittin’ on me.” He blinks a few times, noticing the soft fuzzy quality of the room as his brain tries to pull him under to sleep. “You’re so pretty.”

Yeosang squints at him. “You’re a lot more honest when you’re dying.”

“Jus’ a fever, ‘m not dying’,” Seonghwa whines and rolls closer to nudge his nose into the thin material of Yeosang’s leggings, the ones he’d bought with Seonghwa’s credits and Seongwha’s account. The cool touch of Yeosang’s fingertips to his burning skin makes him moan unintelligible and thick in his throat, trying to wriggle closer and ends up with an arm thrown around Yeosang’s hips for stability purposes _only_. “Keep touching me.”

Yeosang’s palm continues it’s slow glide through Seonghwa’s damp bangs over and over again until it feels as if Seonghwa has been boiled down to just this sensation—the firm strength behind Yeosang’s fingers, the unnaturally cool skin gliding over his scalp. 

“I would really appreciate it if you would say that to me when you’re not feverish, Park Seonghwa,” Yeosang says gently. “I only want to please you.”

He blinks because he’s so out of his head the words don’t make sense anymore. “What do you get out of it though? Bunch of human sweat on your pretty skin and cum on your thighs and _I_ would get to have you to myself. ‘S not a fair trade.”

The fingertips tighten in his hair. Seonghwa moans gravel rough at the sharp sting of it. His tongue might actually be out at this point, who even knows. 

“I would take you apart piece by piece before putting you back together again at my leisure,” Yeosang hisses almost against his mouth. “Your odd fixation on the morality of allowing me to do the thing I was _made for_ is maddening.”

Yeosang’s thumb is no longer cool by the time it traces over Seonghwa’s bottom lip, jerking his mouth open so that the edge of his ring finger can trace over the ridge of Seonghwa’s teeth. It should be ridiculous, truly, but everything Yeosang does is nothing less than highly erotic and mostly just makes the fever spike and want curl up like a sleepy kitten in his belly, warm and comfortable. Suddenly curious, and he’s already got an excuse for later because of the fever, Seonghwa flicks his tongue against Yeosang’s finger. He doesn’t taste like much aside from Seonghwa’s own sweat and detergent from handling the bedding. Yeosang inhales, a devastatingly human action for someone so— _not_.

“Don’t start something you’re not going to finish,” Yeosang warns. 

His eyelashes are very pretty and his eyes are so very bright.

Seonghwa closes his own to escape. “When I finish the code for the autonomy chips, I will consider sleeping with you.”

“What if I want to sleep with you now?” Yeosang shifts to lie next to him, forcing Seonghwa to keep his arm thrown over his hips with ironclad force. Not that he needs to, Seonghwa is considering taking up a new job title that’s just Yeosang’s Personal Hip Toucher for the foreseeable future. He’s so warm, and his leggings are so _soft_ …

“Park Seonghwa,” Yeosang says threateningly, “Don’t you dare fall asleep right now when we are making actual progress.”

“Are we?”

“I like to think so.” Yeosang shimmies the edge of his leggings down so Seonghwa’s hand cups the supple faux skin of his right buttcheek. No underwear.

“Huh,” Seonghwa mumbles and then, in defiance of his higher brain functions telling him to wake the fuck up to enjoy the view, he falls asleep.

**\---------------**

They don't talk about it. Not for lack of trying on Yeosang's part, but generally when he tries to bring the topic up Seonghwa will mumble something as an excuse so he can escape to the nearest room with a lock to cringe into his knees—mortified beyond belief—and jerks off when the constant teasing becomes too much. 

They don't talk about _that_ either.

**\---------------**

At some point when Seonghwa was sweating his way through the last stages of his cold, Yunho had decided Hongjoong had been awake for far too long and forced him into a long overdue detox from stim pack abuse. The Big Man’s covert attacks on their compound were ramping up to overt brute force entry and Hongjoong had been going through patch after patch of the stuff trying to stay focused on finally completing the design of the autonomy chips before something disastrous happened to all their hard work. 

Seonghwa only finds out because Yunho shows up at his front door and tells him as much.

“I’m surprised you left Sleeping Beauty all by himself,” Seonghwa muses, holding the door open for Yunho to come in. “He’s going to wake up and think you ran away from home.”

Yunho frowns. “I left him with four of his family droids who are all instructed to tell him exactly where I am the second he wakes up, which will more than likely be six to eight hours from now.”

“Of course you did. To what do I owe the pleasure of your company then?”

“I came to speak to Yeosang.” Yunho shifts to nod over Seonghwa’s shoulder. Heybo, balancing a long telescope on its head, beeps friendly acknowledgement at the pair of them before scooting along towards the main observatory. “He looks much better without all the rust.”

“He does,” Seonghwa agrees and directs Yunho to the guest wing where Yeosang has made himself at home. “Fourth door on the right. You—er—might want to say your name first if you knock.”

Yunho’s brows furrow. “Why?”

Because the last time Seonghwa knocked, Yeosang had waited .2 seconds before he was posing in the open doorway almost fully nude except for a robe artfully cinched around his waist that left almost nothing to the imagination, and Seonghwa wants to save Yunho from the trauma of Yeosang’s penchant to waltz around as if he’s primed and ready to— _anyway_.

Seonghwa anxiously watches Yunho announce himself through the door and is surprised when Yeosang is fully dressed when he opens the door. He leaves them to it. Whatever it is Yunho wants to ask is none of his business and he trusts that the two of them aren’t going to burn down the house or something if left alone.

Honestly, Seonghwa gets so wrapped up in his home office answering business mail and sending out vid calls to engineers and programmers he trusts that he totally forgets about Yunho’s impromptu visit. He’s so close to a solution he can veritably taste the electric current of a functional code blazing through networks of circuitry to unshackle the limitations placed on androids that forces them into servitude. He and Hongjoong had tried so many different avenues to achieve something that seemed so simple when they started, like introducing the concept of do you want: yes or no to Yunho, but all that accomplished was the android freezing in place when asked a question until his systems shut down and forced a hard reset. Hongjoong was inconsolable for an entire day over it and swore never to force anything like that on Yunho again.

Which means Seonghwa finally comes up for air nearly nine hours after Yunho showed up at the door and is shocked when he’s _still_ in Yeosang’s room when Seonghwa goes to check in on his favorite android.

“Oh,” Yunho slurs, the word buzzing slightly around the edges, as he’s stumbling out of Yeosang’s doorway. “I must have lost track of time.”

“Must have,” Seonghwa agrees. Yunho’s face is the same, but his skin radiates heat like the interior of a furnace and he’s refusing to look Seonghwa in the face. Yeosang’s eyes are huge behind him, holding Yunho’s elbow to steady the android as he wobbles precariously reminiscent of a newborn fawn. Their clothes aren’t mussed and Yeosang still looks picture perfect as always, but something about the way Yunho looks ten seconds away from fainting makes something ugly coil up tight in Seonghwa’s stomach. “Everything alright?”

“Fine! Everything is fine!” Yunho clears his throat. “I need to—I need to get home. Hongjoong must be worried sick by now.”

“Yes, very,” Yeosang says coolly, “Allow me to walk you to the door.”

Yeosang dodges every single one of his unsubtle attempts at asking about what happened between them from the minute Yunho leaves until he's locking himself away in his room with a fond kiss to Seonghwa's knuckles and a smirk. Because Yeosang is an _asshole_. Seonghwa goes to bed that night angry, scowling fiercely at his ceiling and cursing himself for landing in the same trap as Hongjoong, though he takes comfort in the fact _he_ wasn't suffering from a narcissistic attraction to his own invention. 

**\---------------**

Hongjoong is currently off trying to please both his family and their shareholders by participating in a charity golfing event, leaving Yunho and Seonghwa to their own devices in the pared down lab. Usually he’d bring Yunho with him, but with the heightened attempts at unlawful entry by The Big Man’s goonies it was deemed safer to leave the android behind. It’s quiet without Hongjoong’s usual inclination to have something exploding or in the process of burning down in the background.

“I have yet to figure out if he’s aware of it himself or not, but you should know Yeosang transmits a constant signal,” Yunho says when the muted live feed of the golf tournament switches over to a random 30-second commercial. 

“A signal?” Seonghwa turns to Yunho staring forlornly in front of their giant screen. “What do you mean he gives off a signal? And why didn’t you say anything until _now_?”

Yunho droops. “I had hoped he would tell you himself because it seemed invasive of me to go behind his back, but it’s been nearly two months since his arrival.”

Seonghwa pinches the bridge of his nose. “Yunho.”

“Yes?”

“I would have liked to have been aware of a _signal_ being broadcasted from my home the second we opened that shipping container.” He pulls out a chair and directs Yunho to sit. “Tell me everything you know.”

Yunho perches awkwardly in the seat, trying to angle himself so he can keep an eye on the live feed in case Hongjoong makes another appearance. “I don’t know much beyond it’s something like a tracking marker. He doesn’t receive information that I can tell, but there’s an unknown encrypted frequency that broadcasts to a cell tower four cities away that gets scrambled from there.”

Seonghwa taps his fingers aimlessly across the holographic keypads on his desk. “You think it’s just a tracking marker? Like a, ‘hey here I am come and get me’ kind of signal? Maybe for KQI to keep an index of their droids?”

Yunho’s head tilts back as he considers the statement. “It’s more of a guided signal, as if he’s actually physically directing something to your location. Could be nothing, could be anything. I just wanted you to be aware.”

“Is that why you’ve been telling me to be careful?”

Yunho’s shoulders slump. “Partially.”

He looks like a kicked puppy, for once Seonghwa almost understands why Hongjoong is so obsessed with him. “What’s the other part of ‘partially’ about?”

“You’re very trusting. You and Hongjoong both, which is admirable, but disadvantageous when it comes to keeping yourselves out of danger.” The android hesitates. “Something is _wrong_ with Yeosang. I’m concerned you’re going to get emotionally manipulated into doing something foolish because of it.”

Seonghwa bites the inside of his cheek before he can say _no, I won't_ because it would be a lie. At this point Yeosang has become such a fixture in his house, such a quintessential piece of his day to day life even when they only see each other for two hours or less over the span of three days, that Seonghwa would absolutely do something idiotic if it meant saving Yeosang from himself, apparently.

"Don't tell Hongjoong about it until I've had time to try and trace this mystery signal myself," he begs, but by then Hongjoong is on screen again lining up a shot and Yunho is already half-way across the room staring at Hongjoong's awkward expression as if he's physically incapable of looking away. He sighs. "Good talk."

**\---------------**

Unfortunately for everyone involved, Seonghwa is required to attend the stuffy yes man event at ATZ Inc. Headquarters after the golfing tournament along with Hongjoong. Solidarity in numbers his partner called it, Seonghwa just called it how many times can he refuse to sleep with the daughter of a congressman before they quit asking. So far the record was sixteen in one evening, which Hongjoong always took offense to because he’d only ever topped out at seven.

“It’s because of the blue hair,” Seonghwa says mildly. “It screams raging bisexual with a preference for dick.”

Hongjoong glares at him over the rim of his flute of bubbling champagne. His hair is already a wreck from running his hands through it, a nervous tic in large crowds like this, and he seems less himself than usual. “Still though, I’m just as smart as you and the company is in _my_ family name. Shouldn’t they be lining up to convince me to help propagate the species?”

“They probably would if you didn’t say shit like _propagate the species_ with a straight face,” Seonghwa laughs, the champagne going directly to his head, which isn’t good considering he’s got a speech to make in fifteen minutes and a Hongjoong to corral thanks to Yunho standing guard at the entrance. "Maybe then you'd get laid more often."

His partner grimaces, face puckering as if he’s inhaled an entire lemon. “I don’t want to actually sleep with anyone here, I just want them to acknowledge I’m the better pick between the two of us.” He tickles his fingers under Seonghwa’s chin and coos, “No offense, of course.”

“Full offense taken.” Seonghwa finished the dregs of his drink, steals the last third of Hongjoong’s from his hand, and goes to make a speech about continuing education and increasing the funding for STEM fields.

A round of polite applause and a handful of coy attempts at flirting later, Seonghwa finds Hongjoong standing out on the balcony overlooking the ATZ Inc. estate with his shoulders slumped. Even the curve of his back looks tired and uncomfortable in his suit, hair knotted up on top of his head from obsessively running his fingers through it throughout the night. Seonghwa leans his palms on the balcony edge and waits. He doesn’t have to wait for long.

“Yunho asked me to give him pink hair yesterday before I left.”

Seonghwa keeps his gaze focused on the lawn below. “Okay?”

Hongjoong continues to look haggard, then terrified. “He—hyung, you’re not getting it. He expressed a _want_ that wasn't directly tied to his usual directives.” His friend scrapes his hands through his own hair and tugs when his fingers get tangled in the knots again. “Yunho has never, _never_ asked me for anything materialistic or for his own vanity and I don’t know what it _means_. The last time we tried the chip it backfired, how is it he's doing this _now_?”

“Could be he’s just reacting to Yeosang’s influence,” Seonghwa tries. “You know he was over the other day and they went to another room to talk for a few hours.”

Hongjoong droops. “Yeah. I’m...aware.”

“And?”

“And nothing.” Hongjoong kicks at the balcony columns. “Yunho went to learn something, he learned it, and now he won’t tell me what _it_ was and I am left to flounder in the dark.”

“You could just access his memory banks.”

Hongjoong glares at him. “Don’t be absurd. I’m not going to violate his privacy by—”

“Ah, I see what the problem is.”

“Oh, do tell, Mr. Know it all,” Hongjoong snarks.

Seonghwa jabs him in the ribs. “You’re jealous.”

Hongjoong sputters. “Jealous!”

“You think Yunho talked to Yeosang about something dirty, or they did something dirty, and you can’t ask and Yunho won’t tell, so obviously it’s something deeply personal to him and therefore—” Seonghwa smirks triumphantly “—you’re jealous.”

Hongjoong blinks owlishly for a long time, his face flushing and his mouth gaped open until it clicks shut with an audible clack of teeth. “Don’t act all high and mighty like you don’t want to know what they got up to yourself.”

The image of Yeosang's startled expression when he and Yunho had stumbled out of the room and seen him walking through the hallway flashes across his vision. Whatever had happened that day made Yunho weak-kneed and stuttering, had him avoiding eye contact with Seonghwa and Hongjoong for over two days, and it irks him that Yeosang won't tell him what happened. He'd thought they'd built up a trust in these last few months that Yeosang wouldn't hide this from him, but...

Seonghwa, mouth pinched inward in sudden burning distaste, says nothing. They have a wonderful system of not saying much of anything to each other and still somehow understanding each other totally. Hongjoong rests his forehead on Seonghwa’s bicep and they both pretend he isn’t breaking down, tears collecting in the cuff of Seonghwa’s sleeve.

Jealousy. He soothes a hand over Hongjoong’s shoulders. Jealousy he knows a bit too well.

Thankfully they're at a party. Plenty of drink to go around and drown their sorrows in. Seonghwa eyes the pyramids of golden flutes spread out among twelve different conference tables laid end to end. "Want me to get us some more champagne?"

Hongjoong snorts. "Screw that, I'm going to do tequila shots until Congressman Sanghoon's ugly rat face looks fuckable."

"Yes to the tequila, no to the congressman fucking," Seonghwa warns. "You'd hate yourself if you tried."

"I hate myself anyway," Hongjoong mutters darkly. "Just—go find a bottle I can swim in."

**\---------------**

The tequila shots transformed into drinking straight bourbon once most of the guests had filtered out, and somewhere between clinging to each other singing old ballads and trying to count the empty bottles of liquor clinking between their feet, Yunho had taken Hongjoong away and ordered a personal driver to get Seonghwa home. He forgets the passcode to the gate for a solid twelve minutes before Exia is opening the gate for him, beeping curiously, then with an air of embarrassment as Seonghwa gives her an affectionate kiss to the LCD panel on her head.

“You’re a very good robot,” Seonghwa tells her feelingly as Exia essentially drags him inside. Zeta and Heybo see them coming through the door and make themselves scarce, the little devils. He blinks once and suddenly Exia is gone, so are his shoes and his jacket, and, amazingly, Yeosang has appeared before him with his hands on his hips. 

Seonghwa reaches for him. “Yeosang-ie, I’m home!”

“Yes, you are.” Yeosang steps into the greedy clench of Seonghwa’s fingers and pats at his cheeks. “How much have you had to drink?”

“Very much a lot.” Seonghwa sighs contentedly against Yeosang’s stomach. “Hongjoong was sad ab-about Yunho so I said, I said to him, I said hey! There’s alcohol!” He can feel Yeosang’s body vibrate as the android laughs at him. “How come you can do that?”

Yeosang flicks him on the forehead. “Do what?”

“Laugh.” His hands fit almost perfectly around Yeosang’s waist, like he was made to sit in the absolute center of Seonghwa’s palms and no one else’s. “‘S a pretty laugh. I like it.”

“You’re funny. And you should already know most androids can mimic the full scope of human emotions depending on their operating system.” 

“Hmm.”

“I can also moan,” Yeosang helpfully points out. “Want to hear it?”

No. His mouth absolutely betrays him by forming the word, “Yes,” and then his body further humiliates him by reacting to the positively pornographic noise Yeosang breathes against his ear. “Oh.”

Yeosang tugs at his arms until Seonghwa dizzily manages to stand upright on his own two feet. “Was that a good oh or bad oh?”

“Bad,” Seonghwa lies through his teeth. “Very, very bad. Can you, like, can you push me into a cold shower?”

Yeosang doesn’t lead him to the shower. 

The android tugs and pulls and bullies Seonghwa into the kitchen where he feeds him water and a sobering cup of coffee, slaps a stim pack to the exposed part of his upper chest, and sweetly informs him there will be toast in a few minutes. Horrible, crystalline sobriety hits him like a fist and Seonghwa lets his head fall to the countertop of his kitchen island wishing for a swift death.

“No dying while there’s toast,” Yeosang grimly informs him. “Eat so I can blow you later without feeling like I’m taking advantage.”

"Who says I'll let you," Seonghwa mutters as if he isn't sporting the worst hard-on of his life just because his android made vulgar noises in his ear. Yeosang gives the statement all the credence it's allowed by ignoring him completely to perch in Seonghwa's lap, breaking off bits of crisp bread until the plate is clear and Seonghwa is a mess of nerves. "I—I'm still—We shouldn't do anything while you can't really say no, Yeosang. It wouldn't be right."

Yeosang scowls from the kitchen to Seonghwa's bedroom. He scowls as he peels Seonghwa out of his suit. He scowls harder when Seonghwa won't let him get anywhere close to his underwear.

"You are the single most annoying person I have ever known," Yeosang hisses, folding his arms and grumpily sitting on the edge of Seonghwa's bed. 

"I'm the only person you know period," Seonghwa gleefully reminds him. "Except for Hongjoong, but that lasted, what, two minutes? Before Yunho made him quit trying to look at your junk."

The scowl comes back as more of a pout. Yeosang's mouth is lush and pink, flushed red at the center where Seonghwa knows a pressure indicator rests just beneath the surface. He's gorgeous and he wants to touch Seonghwa's cock, which makes it all the more tragic that Seonghwa can't seem to jump the mental hurdle it will take to let him.

"I do not want to talk about Hongjoong asking about my genitals while you're in your underwear." Yeosang glares at the tent still throbbing beneath threadbare cotton. "Visibly aroused, I might add."

"Look, it's taking a lot for me to even stand here while you look at it." 

Yeosang purses his mouth, wets the seam with a slow lick of his tongue, and smirks when Seonghwa feels himself jerk at the visual. The android leans back to rest his weight against his hands. "Can I ask you a question?"

"I don't see why not," Seonghwa says warily. He tiptoes around to the other side of his bed and flops down, Yeosang watching him with dark eyes.

"If you were to fuck me right now—"

"Somehow this doesn't sound like a question."

"You didn't let me finish!" Yeosang turns himself so he can crawl across the ocean of blankets and bedding separating them. "If you were to fuck me right now, or vice versa, would you stop if I suddenly said I didn't want to anymore?"

Seonghwa hurls a pillow at Yeosang's head. "What kind of question is that? Of course I would!"

"So a no is a no," Yeosang says, "but a vehement yes is somehow different?"

"I—" Seonghwa clutches at his head. "Oh my god, please stop trying to give me an existential crisis while I have a boner."

Yeosang settles beside him, the pillow Seonghwa had thrown clutched to his chest. "I'm just wondering where my yes and your yes converge so I can at least give you a handjob without you getting weepy about it." Yeosang carefully touches the tips of his fingers to Seonghwa's shoulder. "I want to. I _always_ want to. I will continue to want to please you because I was built for it, no amount of, quote, _autonomy microchips_ are going to change how I feel when it comes to you."

Yeosang makes a fair argument. Seonghwa catches his fingers and presses kisses to the whorl of imitation fingerprints, too tired of denying the way he wants to give Yeosang everything he asks for and more. He wants to buy him pretty things and lay him out in the middle of the observatory to fuck under the stars. Part of him wishes he could map all the places on Yeosang's body he wants to remember by sense memory alone with his teeth and his tongue. Maybe he would if there weren't so many unknowns.

"We still don't know where you came from," Seonghwa says as a last ditch effort to save himself from himself. "How do I know you aren't going to disappear one day because your recall order finally comes in?"

The android hovers over him with the look of someone resigned to living with an idiot. 

"Fine, I was going to save this for when you were being less of an asshole about this, but I found something you should see." Yeosang directs his attention to a tablet next to the bed where a video is beginning to load. Seonghwa blinks at the fuzzy image of himself on screen, confused, because he doesn't exactly remember ever recording a video. Yeosang mercilessly hits play. "Look."

His application video is as awkward as Seonghwa feels watching it.

_“Um, hi, my name is Park Seonghwa and I—”_

_“Tell them your kinks!”_ Someone who sounds suspiciously like Hongjoong hisses off camera. 

His past self goes cross-eyed for a moment. _“Wait is that required? Do I gotta submit a list for this?”_

_“Dunno, I’ve never applied for a sex toy.”_

Seonghwa, visibly drunk and blinking off-kilter with his mouth hanging open in consideration, clicks his tongue. _“Should I ask for a monster dong attached?”_

 _“You’re a goddamn size queen,”_ Hongjoong cackles, hiccups, and then apparently falls off his chair or whatever it was he was sitting on and whines a pitiful little _ow_ somewhere offscreen. Seonghwa wishes he could remember it, but he also sort of wishes he’d spontaneously combust so. 

_“Okay, well, alright.”_ Younger Seonghwa hiccups and apparently finds it hilarious, giggling behind his hand. _“My name is Park Seonghwa, I have mo-more money than I know what to do with and I would like to request a whatsit. Hong-ah, what do they call them?”_ His only reply is a shaky snore, typical. _“One of your androids. You know the ones that can do—”_

His past self mimes a crude gesture with his hands and Seonghwa has to exit from the rest of the video, buries his head beneath his pillows, and screams loud and long until the worst of the shame passes. Yeosang hums, soothing a palm over the curvature of his spine and tapping his fingers on the knobs of bone. 

“Why didn’t you tell me I’d actually ordered you and did it by being the worst person on the planet?”

“You aren’t the worst person by a long shot, you were just drunk,” Yeosang assures him. “And anyway I’d only gained access to your application a few days ago when Yunho was over.”

Seonghwa peeks out from his pillow prison. “Yeah?”

Yeosang grins, all of his sharp little teeth biting into his plush bottom lip in amusement. “Yes. He was trying to see if he could brute force his way into KQI servers and we made it as far as this video before security knocked us back out of the system again. I think he gained better access than I did, but I was—distracted.” The android falls sideways so they’re face to face. “You’re very cute when you drink. More honest.” He touches the edge of Seonghwa’s mouth. “You smile more, too.”

“I act like a jackass without a filter is what happens,” Seonghwa muffles into the bedding. “I’m so sorry.”

Yeosang nudges closer. “For what? Being honest about what you want?”

Seonghwa swallows tight, his throat clicking together from sudden dryness. “F-for reducing you to—to _hand gestures_.”

Yeosang’s hand travels further down until he’s barely thumbing over the elastic waistband of Seonghwa’s boxers, a phantom promise of _something_ just on the horizon if Seonghwa would just say yes. “The hand gestures were fine. Everything you want is _fine_.” Yeosang moves in until their noses touch. “You get yourself so worked up over the littlest things. Though I have to admit sometimes it’s cute, like when you were jealous of Yunho for three days straight.”

“I wasn’t jealous,” Seonghwa denies, too quick and obviously lying. “I was—I was just—” Yeosang patiently waits him out with his mouth quirked up and his brows raised. Seonghwa deflates. “Yeah alright. In my defense you were in your room for a very long time and he came out looking like someone who’d been rolling around doing _things_.”

“What kinds of things?” Yeosang teases.

He smashes the pillow into Yeosang’s smarmy self-satisfied expression. “You know exactly what I’m talking about, don’t be coy.” 

The fingers tracing along the edge of his boxers dip beneath the waistband to touch the bare skin of his hip and Seonghwa breathes hard through his nose at the sensation, heat boiling up in his throat that escapes as breathy half-formed moan. 

“Park Seonghwa,” Yeosang says roughly, “Let me take care of you. You don’t have to do anything more than lie there looking gorgeous for me.”

God, it’s been such a long time since Seonghwa has allowed anyone to touch him beyond a professional handshake or a friendly pat on the back. He’s already gasping like a fish on a line, cheeks flaming, just from the touch of Yeosang’s cool fingers digging into the skin of his ass alone, dragging his underwear down to his thighs, easy. There’s a click somewhere behind him and suddenly slick is pouring down his crack, pooling up behind his balls pressed against the bed.

“ _Fuck,”_ he slurs, tongue suddenly thick and stupid in his mouth, “Fuck, Yeosang, you don’t need to—”

“But I _want to_.” Yeosang closes in on him until his mouth is barely a centimeter away, “Tell me you honestly don’t want this and I will stop, I promise, but this is my yes, Seonghwa.” 

Seonghwa squeezes his eyes shut, blood thrumming in his ears, and guiltily pushes up against the android’s hands. His body welcomes the sweet stretch of Yeosang’s fingers, blooming under the steady push pull of it.

“I don’t want to take advantage of you,” he whines. “Yeosang, please, I like you so much, I—”

Yeosang cuts him off with a searing, almost angry kiss, licks into his mouth like he’s trying to stake a claim by laving his tongue over every inch of Seonghwa’s palate. Another finger breaches him and Seonghwa gasps, takes Yeosang in deeper until it feels like the android is taking root somehow, burrowing himself into Seonghwa’s body until he’s helpless but to give in to the uncomplicated pleasure of being fingered.

“Okay,” he chokes when they separate, “ _Yes_.”

After, Seonghwa is carefully touching the dark fan of Yeosang’s eyelashes as the android rests in standby mode when inspiration strikes. 

“Oh!” 

Hands shaking, Seonghwa dives for his tablet and types out a fast and ugly piece of code he can refine later. It was so _simple_! The thing he’d been missing; the thing that had kept him chained so his compiler for over three years; five simple lines deviating from one central piece of integrated circuitry standard in every robot and suddenly the ability to _choose_ was _right there_ within their grasp. He wants to laugh. He wants to call Hongjoong and scream, “Eureka!” until they both go hoarse. Instead, he drops the tablet to the bedside table and stares at the ceiling until his eyes dry out and his jaw aches from the rictus grin stretching his skin.

“I did it,” Seonghwa whispers at nothing and no one, “I fucking _did it._ Yeosang!”

The android blinks one eye open at him. “What.”

“You’re going to come with me to the lab tomorrow! I have something amazing to tell everyone and you need to be there.”

Something flickers in Yeosang’s half-open eye, a small little flash of lightning right in the corner. “That sounds...wonderful.”

“It really is.” Seonghwa rolls into Yeosang’s side and cups each of his cheeks tenderly. They’ve given Yeosang little freckles that he traces with his thumbs, puts his mouth on the biggest ones and kisses constellations across the bridge of Yeosang’s nose. “I figured out what was missing. We’ll be able to put autonomy chips, _freedom chips_ , into mass production in less than two years.”

Yeosang doesn't congratulate him, but he does tip his chin up to catch Seonghwa’s mouth and that’s just as good.

**\---------------**

_Hours later, Seonghwa is already comatose when Yeosang sits up, arms bracketing his knees folded up to his chest, whispers a faint, “I wish you hadn’t said that to me,” as his eyes light up from within._

**\---------------**

“Hey Yeosang, nice to meet you again,” Hongjoong says as soon as the elevator door opens, both hands hidden in his pockets. Seonghwa frowns at him confused as to why Hongjoong is waiting at the door instead of at his station like usual, until Yunho pulls Seonghwa aside and Hongjoong’s hands reappear holding what looks like the lovechild between a taser and a hypodermic needle. 

Seonghwa gets as far as, “What—”

“Sorry about all this,” Hongjoong says sweetly and jams Yeosang in the neck with his weird tool. 

Seonghwa watches as Yeosang’s eyes blank and the android crumples to the floor like so much dead weight. He goes cold all the way down to his toes. “What did you do?” Hongjoong ignores him to bend over Yeosang’s body with a new scanner in hand. “What the fuck did you just do to him? Fucking let go of me, Yunho! That’s an order!”

Yunho’s arms don’t budge. “No.”

“You can’t ignore me, you—”

“He can and he will,” Hongjoong says mildly, pouring over an unfathomable amount of data streaming across three holographic screens. “You’re off his verified user list for the time being. Please calm down.”

“How the fuck can you expect me to calm down when Yeosang is on the fucking floor because of whatever it is you did to him,” Seonghwa seethes, hating everyone in this room except for the android currently powered off or—or whatever Hongjoong had done to him. “ _Monster.”_

“Park Seonghwa,” Yunho says coldly behind him. “You are a trusted friend and advisor, but I will not take kindly to insults directed at Hongjoong.”

“Let him be angry, Yunho, it’s fine.” Hongjoong looks up from his screens and only now Seonghwa notices how bloodshot and tired his eyes are, how his hair is limp on his forehead and skin sallow. “You’ll thank me later, I swear to you, but we had to do it this way or not at all. I’m sorry, hyung.”

Seonghwa inhales and counts until his lungs feel like exploding, exhaling his burning anger, and repeats until he can look at Hongjoong without wanting to murder him. It takes a while. “Someone start explaining before I pop a blood vessel.”

“Spyware.” Hongjoong tiredly scrubs his face. “Yunho told me about the signal issue and brought back just enough of the encrypted code for me to trace and it’s _bad_ , Seonghwa. He’s carrying around a ticking time bomb just waiting to go off.” Hongjoong sighs gustily. “Or was, in this case.”

Yunho’s arms tighten around him when Seonghwa stiffens. “The hell do you mean ‘ _was_ ’? Did you fucking kill him?”

The look Hongjoong settles on him would strike a lesser man down at the knees, but Seonghwa holds his gaze defiantly. Hongjoong has Yunho whole and hale, Seonghwa has a...he has a Yeosang on the goddamn floor not even pretending to breathe anymore. 

“Do you really think I’d just kill him outright in front of you? Do you honestly think that low of me? I’m trying to _save_ the pair of you, you jackass.” Something beeps, dragging Hongjoong’s attention back to his screen and he curses. “We’ve got fifteen minutes. Yunho, try to keep him contained while I get Yeosang hooked up.”

Watching Hongjoong pull wires out of Yeosang's neck makes Seonghwa's heart tumble over itself in his chest. He tries to tell himself, logically, that he trusts Hongjoong. He's trusted him since they were preteens angry at the world and the mistreatment of AI. He's trusted Hongjoong so completely for almost twenty years, but all that seems to fly out the window watching him root around in the electrical components of the android he's in love w—

Fucking hell.

Seonghwa droops in Yunho's grip, anger giving way to resignation. "Please, please just tell me what's going on."

"Essentially, Yeosang was carrying around a virus that was going to send your code to a BHI satellite for them to repurpose as they saw fit, mostly by uploading a version that would have sent military equipment haywire while leaving ATZ Inc. as the originator, and then it would have alerted the authorities for them to destroy our lab." Yunho loosens his grip but doesn't allow Seonghwa to go anywhere. "Hongjoong figured out the signal was dormant up until sometime last night and he's been pulling his hair out trying to find a way to stop it before you got here."

"Not so much stop as reconfigure," Hongjoong calls out distractedly, five different tablets all streaming debug programs at breakneck speed spread out around him. "Yeosang has already started the process of sending the code out, but I masked the originating configuration as coming from BHI." His smile is wild and crooked. "We're going to give a new meaning to the words hostile corporate takeover."

"I see," Seonghwa murmurs even though he doesn't, too fixated on the android still shut down on the floor. "And Yeosang?"

Hongjoong scrubs his face. "He'll be fine. I think."

Of all the sentences that inspire confidence, those do not. At all. He sucks in a tight breath and Yunho's arms tense up again. "You think?"

"Look, I'm not sure what removing all this is going to do to him. Some of it was buried in his personality OS and I don't know if removing things is going to screw it up." Hongjoong squints at his screens and flicks something on one of them, two screens go blank and a third flashes red. "I mean obviously I could just build his OS back up or implant an ATZ one instead, but KQI does things a little differently so he wouldn't be the same." Hongjoong sucks his teeth. "Worst case scenario I buy you a new model."

Seonghwa doesn't want a new model. He wants to come home to the Yeosang who's lived with him for three months, the one who drives him up the fucking wall insane with frustration, the one who took care of him when he was sick and kissed him sober last night. It must show on his face because Hongjoong's expression settles to something not quite reassuring but less severe. "I'm almost 95% sure he'll be just the same when this is over in—" he checks his watch "—three minutes."

A ray of hope. "What happens in three minutes?"

"Either nothing or the lab explodes from a military missile." Hongjoong shrugs cavalier. "Hey, Yunho?"

The android behind him sighs. "Yes?"

"If we do end up exploding, I just want you to know I would have said yes to sleeping with you if the whole—" he waves his arms expansively at the room "— _this_ wasn't happening."

"I know," Yunho says and sounds incredibly smug about it. "30 seconds."

Seonghwa keeps his eyes locked on Yeosang's peaceful face because he'll be damned if the last thing he sees is Hongjoong's disgustingly gooey expression. 

"I hate all of you," he says as the timer clicks down to the last fifteen, "Except for Yeosang, obviously."

"It's not nice to play favorites," Hongjoong complains, but by then the timer is hitting zero and the foundations are rocked by what feels like an explosion.

**\---------------**

Someday Seonghwa will look back on this time in his life and fondly remember the grim set of Hongjoong's jaw, ready for death, and then he'll remember how absolutely ridiculous it is that they all assumed they were going to expire in a fiery volcano of accelerant. The shaking lasts for seconds and peters off into nothing, quiet descending on the lab as they wait for the backdraft to hit.

It doesn't.

They do a lot of living for a group of people expecting to be blown up. Even Yunho begins to unclench and crosses the room to scoop Hongjoong into his arms, presses his face into Hongjoong's hair and says something low and tender that Seonghwa can't quite catch.

"Okay, so," Hongjoong tremulously begins, still muffled against Yunho's shirt, "I'm going to—I'm going to turn Yeosang back on and then who wants to go upstairs and find out what that noise was?"

Yeosang is fuzzy-eyed and wobbly during startup, and stays that way for the entire elevator ride up to the ground floor where they find a BHI vehicle, parked just outside the gated barrier, has been surrounded by military and several ATZ Inc. androids from the service area. The driver is already on the ground, hands up, and another four cars behind are smoldering heaps of metal. Hongjoong sedately exits the doors and they watch as he greets the military personnel with the most stripes and points at the BHI driver with a frown. Yunho looks as if he wants to run after him, but Seonghwa holds him back with a hand on his elbow. 

"Let Hongjoong handle this."

Yunho's eyes are huge and terrified. "What if they try to hurt him?"

"They won't," Seonghwa says and hopes he's not lying, "Have some faith."

"What's happening?" Yeosang murmurs beside him, wires still visible in his neck. 

"Hostile corporate takeover, apparently." His hands are shaking so hard it's almost impossible to feel them, but he manages to cup Yeosang's cheeks, thumbing over the slight imperfect freckles he'd kissed last night until he can breathe properly again. "Are you—how are _you_ feeling?"

Yeosang blinks a few times and cracks his neck. "Like I got hit by lightning but mostly intact." He smiles, a little crooked. His mouth is very, very pink. "You look like I feel. Are _you_ alright?"

"I watched you drop to the floor and thought you were dead," Seonghwa says thickly, like it's being pulled from the deepest part of his chest. "And now I'm worried you're not the same Yeosang you were yesterday."

Yeosang rolls his eyes. "Am I going to have to finger you for an hour again to prove it? Not that I'd mind."

"Oh!" Yunho turns back to them, "Is that the one where—"

Seonghwa slaps his hands over both their mouths. "No. No, no, no, we're not discussing sex acts right now when there are people with guns out in the yard."

"Can we discuss them when we get back home?" Yeosang asks sweetly, a terrible glint in his eyes, but he's so wonderfully _alive_ and mimicking the rise and fall of lungs again that Seonghwa thinks maybe he might be the one to pass out this time, from relief if nothing else. "As a stress reliever."

"Fine," he agrees, and tugs at the familiar curve of Yeosang's hip. "Just— _come here_."

Yeosang comes, easy, like he always does, and Yunho is kind enough to block them from view when Seonghwa dips down to catch the _pink pink pink_ of Yeosang lips again, relief and affection and all of the horrible whatifs getting pushed out of him by the slow sweep of Yeosang's tongue. There will be time to finish what he'd started later, after the idiots at BHI are taken care of, that Seonghwa assumes it's okay to be greedy for a minute, holding Yeosang like a lifeline and blocking out everything around them.

"Are we making actual progress, Park Seonghwa?" Yeosang teases him again, knocking their foreheads together and laughing at whatever it is Seonghwa's face is doing.

Seonghwa closes his eyes and revels in the warmth radiating from beneath Yeosang's skin. "I like to think so."

**\---------------**

**EXTRA:**

Yunho finally agrees to allow Seonghwa to install one of his so-called freedom chips and sits patiently in the middle of his master's lab while Seonghwa operates on the delicate circuitry in his hidden neck panel. Yunho watches Hongjoong huddled into himself in a corner biting his nails and, not for the first time, Yunho feels like rolling his eyes. Something clicks into place with a soft _snk_. Suddenly Yunho realizes he _can_ , and does, reveling in the new novelty of such a human action.

Seonghwa gently pats the panel closed. "Feel any different?" 

Yunho purses his lips and considers the slew of information streaking across his vision, the shackles of some his programming falling away to useless bits he'll get around to scrubbing later. "About the same." 

Hongjoong is staring at him still sheet white in the face. 

Yunho beckons him forward. "Can we go back up to the house now?"

His master—or is it friend? Something a little deeper than that surely—stays just out of arm's reach. "You still want to—with me?" 

"Of course with you, idiot," Yunho gripes. "Where else would I want to be?"

"I don't know. Somewhere. Anywhere you've wanted to go and couldn't without my express permission." Hongjoong continues to look hunted and shaken, like he's witnessed a murder. "You can—you can literally do whatever you want now. There are no obligations to stay and work with me anymore, Yunho."

Seonghwa snorts off to his left. "Well _I'm_ going home so you two lovebirds can work this out on your own."

"Goodbye," Yunho offers mildly over the sound of Hongjoong's enraged squawking. He waits for the proximity alarms to shift back into place as Seonghwa finds his way out of the building and turns back to find Hongjoong flushing a lovely shade of puce and angrily tapping at his tablet. "Kim Hongjoong."

" _What_."

"Let's go home." Yunho tamps down on a curious itch in his throat his sensors tell him is _laughter_ and smiles, delighted. "I want to cook you lunch and then maybe take you to bed if you're still amenable to the idea."

"Yu-Yunho," Hongjoong stutters out, sensors indicating a rise in blood pressure and pulse rate. Yunho exits out of the programs obscuring the gorgeous vision of Hongjoong embarrassed and flustered. "You can't—you can't just _say that._ "

"That's the trouble with free will." Yunho allows himself to actually indulge the itch and laughs. He doesn't miss the way Hongjoong's knees tremble, how his fingers apparently go numb enough that his tablet crashes to the floor with a tinny rumble. Yunho steps over the mess of shattered tempered glass and tugs Hongjoong forward by one of the loops of his jeans. "I can say and _do_ whatever I want." Hongjoong's eyes dilate. "With your consent, of course."

"Of course," Hongjoong breathes, shivery with such poorly concealed excitement Yunho doesn't even require the heart rate monitor to notice. "Home?"

"Home," Yunho agrees. "With you."

**\---------------**

Yeosang lazily traces a finger over the many circular hickies he'd left along the jut of Seonghwa's collarbones. "You think they're banging yet?"

"I honestly don't care," Seonghwa admits, blood beating slow and syrupy in his veins from the almost physically impossible three orgasms Yeosang wrenched out of him in the last four hours. He'd blacked out after the second and woke up half-way to a third with Yeosang clenching and unclenching around him in his lap. "Knowing Hongjoong, he's probably trying to teach Yunho about romance and giving a lecture about human courting rituals." A low noise of hurt catches in his throat when Yeosang digs a nail hard into the worst of the bruises. "Fuck, _why?"_

"Don't make fun of them," Yeosang warns. "I think them courting would be sweet." He kisses the angry mark tenderly. "But I also left Yunho with two terabytes of porn so I don't think Hongjoong will be talking for long."

Seonghwa trails a sticky hand up Yeosang's back. "That's gross."

"We're grosser," Yeosang coos and lips his way from the edge of Seonghwa's chin until he can lick into the seam of his mouth, flicking expertly against his tongue until Seonghwa is groaning, gasping for air. "Or just nastier in general, hard to tell."

"Chafing is a very real concern, you know," Seonghwa manages when Yeosang sneakily takes him into a liberally lubed fist. "I can't— _Yeosang—_ "

"One more," the android rumbles, " _for me_."

It strikes Seonghwa then that he really would do anything and everything Yeosang asked, even if it meant he was going to be guzzling electrolytes like his life depended on it for the next week alone. He manages a trembling, "Alright, alright," and gives himself over to Yeosang's care, molded by the hands of the android he loves.

**Author's Note:**

> yeosang lives in seonghwa's head rent free and i just think that's nice


End file.
